Chapter 3: After Hours Repayment

The office building felt different after dark—quieter, more intimate, charged with possibility. Most of the fluorescent lights had dimmed automatically, leaving pools of shadow between the workstations. Liam made his way through the maze of empty cubicles toward Chloe's office, his footsteps muffled by the industrial carpet.

Through her glass wall, he could see her silhouette bent over her computer, auburn hair catching the blue glow of her monitor. She'd shed her blazer sometime during the day, leaving her in a cream silk blouse that seemed to shimmer in the artificial light.

He knocked softly, and she looked up with a smile that made his chest tighten.

"Right on time," she said, gesturing him inside. "Close the door."

The click of the lock seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet space. Chloe stood slowly, moving around her desk with predatory grace.

"So," she said, her voice carrying that same husky tone that had haunted him all day. "Ready to discuss our project?"

"Chloe." Her name came out rougher than intended. "We need to talk about this. About what we're doing."

She tilted her head, studying him with those devastating hazel eyes. "What we're doing? I thought we were conducting business. Very... thorough business."

The innocence in her tone was completely undermined by the way she moved closer, her fingers trailing along the edge of her desk.

"You know what I mean," he said, but his resolve was already crumbling under her steady gaze.

"Do I?" She stepped closer, close enough that he could smell her perfume—something subtle and expensive that made his head spin. "Because all I know is that you owe me. And I'm here to collect."

Before he could respond, she reached up and loosened his tie with practiced efficiency. The silk slipped through her fingers like water.

"Chloe—"

"Shh." Her finger pressed against his lips, silencing his protest. "You agreed to this, remember? You said you were ready to pay your debts."

Her hands moved to his shirt buttons, working them open with maddening slowness. Each brush of her fingers against his chest sent electricity shooting through his system.

"Someone could see," he managed, even as his hands found her waist.

"The cleaning crew doesn't start until ten," she murmured against his throat. "Security does rounds at nine and eleven. We have plenty of time."

The calculation in her voice—the fact that she'd planned this, thought it through—should have alarmed him. Instead, it sent heat spiraling through his veins.

"You've thought of everything," he said.

"I always do." She pulled back to look at him, her eyes bright with mischief and desire. "Now, are you going to keep talking, or are you going to show me how grateful you are?"

Something snapped inside him—the last thread of his legendary self-control finally giving way. His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her against him as his mouth found hers.

She kissed him back with fierce intensity, her fingers tangling in his hair, her body molding against his like she was made for him. This wasn't the desperate fumbling of the parking garage—this was slower, deeper, charged with the kind of raw hunger that could consume them both.

"The desk," she whispered against his lips, and he didn't need to be told twice.

He lifted her easily, settling her on the edge of the polished wood surface. Her skirt rode up, revealing the lace tops of her stockings, and he thought he might lose his mind entirely.

"God, you're beautiful," he breathed, his hands mapping the curves of her thighs.

"Less talking," she said, pulling him closer. "More showing."

---

Time became meaningless. The sterile office transformed into their private sanctuary, filled with whispered words and breathless gasps. Liam poured everything into worshipping her—every ounce of the passion he'd kept locked away for years, every desperate need she'd awakened in him.

He was determined to give her the same pleasure she'd given him, to show her exactly what her boldness had unleashed. Her responses drove him wild—the way she arched beneath his touch, the way she whispered his name like a prayer.

"Is this what you wanted?" he murmured against her skin, his voice rough with desire.

"Yes," she gasped, her hands clutching at his shoulders. "God, yes."

The risk of discovery only heightened every sensation. Every sound from the hallway made them freeze, hearts pounding, before hunger drove them back together. The thought that anyone could walk by and see them through the glass wall should have terrified him. Instead, it made everything more intense, more vital.

"We're insane," he said during one brief moment of clarity, his forehead pressed against hers.

"Probably," she agreed, her lips curving in that devastating smile. "Do you care?"

He looked into her eyes—bright with passion and mischief and something deeper that made his chest ache—and realized he didn't. Not even a little.

"No," he said simply.

"Good." She pulled him down for another kiss. "Because I'm not nearly finished with you yet."

---

They were so lost in each other that the sound of footsteps in the hallway barely registered at first. It was only when they grew closer, accompanied by the jangle of keys, that reality crashed back.

"Shit," Liam breathed, pulling away from her.

Chloe's eyes went wide, but she moved with impressive speed, sliding off the desk and smoothing down her skirt while he frantically buttoned his shirt.

The footsteps paused outside her office.

A flashlight beam swept across the glass wall, and they both froze. Chloe grabbed a stack of papers from her desk, holding them up as if she'd been reviewing them, while Liam moved to the window, trying to look casual despite his racing heart.

The security guard—an older man Liam recognized but had never spoken to—tested the door handle. Finding it locked, he moved on, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

They stood in silence until the sounds faded completely, then looked at each other and burst into quiet laughter.

"That was close," Chloe whispered, her cheeks flushed with adrenaline and lingering desire.

"Too close," Liam agreed, but he was smiling despite himself. When was the last time he'd felt this alive? This reckless?

She moved closer, straightening his tie with gentle fingers. "Worth it, though."

"Completely," he said without hesitation.

The admission surprised him with its honesty. A day ago, he would have said nothing was worth risking his career, his reputation, his carefully built life. Now, looking at this incredible woman who'd turned his world upside down, he realized some things were worth any risk.

"I should go," she said softly, glancing at the clock on her desk. "I have dinner at eight, remember?"

The reminder hit him like cold water. Dinner. With her boyfriend.

"Mark," he said, the name tasting bitter on his tongue.

Her expression grew complicated. "It's not what you think."

"Isn't it?" He couldn't keep the edge from his voice. "You're going home to another man after—"

"After what?" she interrupted, her eyes flashing. "After collecting on a debt? After making good on a promise? Don't make this more complicated than it needs to be, Liam."

But it was complicated. Every moment with her made it more so.

"This can't just be about debt," he said quietly. "Not for me."

She studied his face in the dim light, and for a moment, her confident mask slipped, revealing something vulnerable underneath.

"No," she agreed softly. "Not for me either."

The admission hung between them like a bridge—terrifying and necessary.

She gathered her things, moving toward the door with her usual grace, but something had shifted. The playful confidence was still there, but underneath it, he sensed something deeper. Something that matched the ache in his own chest.

"Chloe," he called as she reached for the door handle.

She turned back, eyebrows raised.

"This isn't over," he said.

Her smile was soft, almost sad. "I know."

As she disappeared into the darkened hallway, Liam stood alone in her office, surrounded by the lingering scent of her perfume and the weight of what they'd started.

The debt was far from paid. If anything, each encounter only increased what he owed her—not just physically, but emotionally. She was claiming pieces of him he hadn't even known existed, awakening parts of himself he'd buried under years of rigid control.

But as he straightened his clothes and prepared to leave, one thought echoed through his mind with crystal clarity: whatever the cost, whatever the risk, he would pay any debt she demanded.

The question was: what would she ask of him next?

And more terrifyingly—what wouldn't he give her?